


Passionfruit and Holy Bread

by BeveStuscemi



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeveStuscemi/pseuds/BeveStuscemi
Summary: "I thought you could use some company.”Baldwin regards him for a moment, as though contemplating the offer. This is a small victory in itself, as Sarmenti had planned rebuttals for an outright rejection. Instead, Baldwin stands to one side and allows him in.“I suppose there’s no harm in it.”In which the Jester visits the Leper in his private quarters.
Relationships: Jester/Leper (Darkest Dungeon)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Passionfruit and Holy Bread

Sarmenti had always maintained that the hamlet was truly a Godless place.

Rather than abide to vague scripture or attend tedious sermons, Sarmenti chooses to place his faith in the reprieve of companionship; of the raucous laughter and discordant singing that invigorates the broken and promises them all something greater.

And, just as the devoted find clarity in the illuminated visage of a God, the bond of camaraderie brings forth fragments of character otherwise hidden beneath exteriors of fraught resolution. It is in these moments, when they are no longer restrained by the bloodshed and tumult of expeditions, where Sarmenti can truly understand the people who surround him. In the early hours of the evening, they fill his ears with drunken tales of past loves, reckless escapades, and occasional wistful nostalgia for a home they can no longer return to.

The only exception was the Leper King.

Baldwin had been a late addition to their roster, arriving on a hazy morning which soon brought a deluge of rain upon them. This inclement weather was quite befitting of his personality.

At first, Sarmenti was rather captivated with the man. Baldwin’s formidable stature and guttural accent immediately piqued Sarmenti’s baser interests, whilst the bronze mask obscuring the Leper’s features invoked enough intrigue for the attraction not to be _completely_ carnal.

Unfortunately for Sarmenti, Baldwin was also in possession of an introverted and rather dour disposition. The Leper was very much obsessed with his own mortality, preferring to isolate himself from his companions and keep the company of his books and prose. Whilst the rest of hamlet were content to allow Baldwin his privacy, Sarmenti was less than keen.

So, when Baldwin returns from another assignment and quietly retreats to his room, Sarmenti decides that it is high time he put an end to this reclusive behaviour.

By his own request, Baldwin’s room is located furthest down the barrack’s hallway. The door itself is only visible due to the candlelight that leaks from beneath it and Sarmenti uses it as his guiding light midst the darkness. He approaches the door and raps rhythmically against it, informing the man within just who his evening visitor is. There is unhurried movement behind the door; first the sound of wood scraping against wood, and then of heavy footsteps.

The door finally creaks open and Baldwin stands in the doorway, bereft of his usual golden cuirass and ornate armour. Sarmenti offers him a grin that he hopes passes as genuine and not as lascivious.

“Hello there, Baldwin! Another quiet night in the barracks I see.”

“Good evening, Sarmenti. And yes, it is a quiet night,” Unable to emote due to his mask, Baldwin’s head tilts slightly to one side, “Is there something you need?”

Sarmenti gives an exaggerated shrug.

“Well, no, not really. But seeing as you’ve just returned from whatever fresh hell you were assigned to, I thought you could use some company.”

Baldwin regards him for a moment, as though contemplating the offer. This is a small victory in itself, as Sarmenti had planned rebuttals for an outright rejection. Instead, Baldwin stands to one side and allows him in.

“I suppose there’s no harm in it.” Baldwin says plainly, and Sarmenti wastes no time in strolling in and sitting quite comfortably on the broken chair next to Baldwin’s desk.

He frowns at the Jester’s empty hands.

“Where’s your lute?”

“Undergoing repairs,” Sarmenti replies, idly looking over the desk, “Boudica spilled ale on it and warped the wood.”

“Ah. A pity. I would have liked some music.”

Baldwin pushes his door to a close but sighs when it gets caught on a dislodged floorboard. Sarmenti uses the brief distraction to flick through some of the scrolls littered on the desk. The pages are comprised of nothing but poetry, each line more philosophical than the last. There is no joy or emotion in these words, just the bleak ponderings of a man consumed by his own macabre existence.

It is much too depressing for Sarmenti’s tastes and he stops reading when Baldwin finally shuts the door.

“Music would’ve been nice,” he agrees, “I’ve created a riff for my sonnet about the old brothel girl with no teeth. You’d love it.” 

“That sounds…wonderful.” Baldwin says with as much courtesy as he can muster, though the slight stretch of his lips betrays his civility.

Admittedly, the majority of Sarmenti’s work is low-brow humour. It is mostly comprised of the tales told to him over pitchers of ale and games of cards; tales not intended for the pious and a far-cry from Baldwin’s morbid introspection.

Baldwin moves to sit at the foot of his bed, opposite the Jester. Sarmenti had not noticed before, but there was a potent scent of goldenseal which emanated from him. It was not an unpleasant scent, but one certainly associated with sickness.

Regardless, he offers no quarter to the Leper’s mardy literature. Sarmenti is nothing if not forward with his opinions.

“Apologies Baldwin, I know it’s rude to pry and whatnot. But,” Sarmenti taps a long finger on a particularly dismal line of poetry, “If I sang the way you write, I’d have been kicked out of court.”

He expects the Leper to bristle and take offence at this. However, Baldwin simply gives an earnest half-smile.

“I do not write my poetry for performance purposes. I just write what I think or how I feel.”

“Oh shush, surely you don’t think about death _all_ the time. Gods, you’d go insane!”

Baldwin does stiffen at this, jerking at the sharper tone.

“There is little else to think about,” he says, “I know death will come for me, it has been planning to for some time now.”

Sarmenti makes an incredulous noise and sinks further into the chair.

“You have to live before you can die, Leper! Do you want whatever time you have left to be spent hiding and writing sad, soppy words?”

There is an uneasy truth to that statement, one which crawls down Baldwin’s back like poison.

“As opposed to what?” Baldwin snaps back, “Drinking away sorrows? Walking in nature I can barely see? Perhaps I ought to spend my time pursuing people who think me repugnant.”

“Oh, spare me your pity party, Baldwin! I wouldn’t be here if I found you repugnant.” 

The Leper stills and clasps his gloved hands. He peers up to the Jester through clouded vision, trying to decipher if he is mocking him. 

“Explain.”

The Jester laughs.

“I’d rather show.”

Sarmenti slinks from the chair and curls his finger beneath Baldwin’s chin, gliding his thumb over exposed flesh. The skin is taut and scabrous, but it does not deter him from pressing his lips against Baldwin in an enveloping kiss. Baldwin’s lips, thinned and chapped as they are, part in response to the sudden sensation. The Jester is certainly skilled, and when his mouth locates an unmarred area of lip, it receives all his attention. Baldwin’s hands grip into bedsheets to anchor himself, for fear he might collapse in shock.

Sarmenti notices and pulls away slowly, his own scarred lips curled into a triumphant smile. 

“Convinced?”

Lost in his own daze, Baldwin does not hear the question. He licks his lips as though savouring the last few drops of a fine wine. Sarmenti leaves no taste in his mouth but his eagerness promises a lifetime of excitement heretofore denied. Realisation washes over Baldwin like a wave; for the first time in his life, somebody _wants_ him.

“Is there anything else you would like to show me, Jester?” He says with a measured voice that conceals all blossoming desire.

The Jester’s smile widens, eerily familiar to its appearance in battle.

“My silver tongue extends further than my sonnets, dear Baldwin.”

With the same serpentine motion as before, Sarmenti glides upwards onto Baldwin’s lap and wraps his arms beneath the man’s cowl and around his neck. Baldwin places his own large hands against Sarmenti’s angular face, his fingers curved against sharp cheekbones and palms flat against the hollows of his cheeks. He pauses for a moment, silently admiring each small scar and mark on otherwise perfect skin. His hands move up, pushing backwards stray strands that cling to Sarmenti’s forehead. The hand stills at the crown of his head, against vibrant, healthy tufts so unlike his own.

Baldwin’s hands splay outwards, and he pulls Sarmenti towards him into a rough kiss. The Jester accepts with no hesitation, suppressing a wild grin when he once again catches that sensitive part of Baldwin’s mouth between his teeth. Sarmenti sucks there, each nip eliciting a low groan of pleasure from the Leper. Baldwin attempts to mirror the action, but inexperience and excitement renders it a clumsy affair. His hands frame Sarmenti’s face again and he squeezes his eyes shut. In the sanctuary of his mind, he pictures them in his homeland, breathless on silk sheets and basking in sunlight. Baldwin smiles at this bittersweet fantasy, something which Sarmenti does not fail to notice.

“If you’re this excited just from kissing, you’ll be absolutely out of your mind by the time I’m done.” 

Baldwin’s voice catches in his throat and he shuffles backwards onto his bed, Sarmenti’s legs wrapped around his waist. He falls onto his pillow and immediately Sarmenti slides his hands from under his cowl and trails them downwards onto his broad chest. Sarmenti rests his hands on each pectoral, his thumb idly stroking Baldwin through the starch of his bandages. Mottled skin peeks through the layers of fabric and Sarmenti dips his fingers beneath it, caressing the scarred muscle concealed within. Baldwin is certainly more receptive to the contact as he throws his head back into the pillow and whispers something too low to be heard.

“Quiet as usual,” Sarmenti taunts, “Though I would prefer some encouragement of sorts.”

“…it’s good.” Baldwin groans, his penchant for flowery wordplay all but forgotten.

“Oh, come now, an educated man like yourself can do better than that!”

Sarmenti kneads his pectorals again, his thumbs rubbing into the muscle and squeezing the small layer of fat. When he spreads his fingers out and gently caresses the dip between the pectorals, Sarmenti attains the reaction he was looking for.

“ _By the Gods, Sarmenti_.”

The Jester suppresses a moan. Baldwin’s voice is thick and dripping in wanton need and amplifies an already deep accent. It sends a jolt of arousal into Sarmenti’s stomach to imagine what he would sound like on the brink of ecstasy.

He ought to find out.

He withdraws his hands from Baldwin’s chest and briefly relishes the muffled huff of displeasure as he does so. Sarmenti removes himself from the Leper’s abdomen and pushes his legs apart so that he can kneel between two strong, defined thighs. Baldwin watches in fascination and his jaw sets in mortification when he realises that Sarmenti is eyeing the bulge in his trousers.

The Jester barks out a laugh.

“You’re looking as though you’ve never had your cock sucked before!” He chortles.

A tense pause hangs in the air and a sudden, darker expression manifests on the exposed area of the Leper’s face. Sarmenti’s laughter dies immediately.

“Well, that explains why you’re so bloody miserable all the time.” He says, more to himself than to Baldwin.

Slim, agile fingers make quick work of Baldwin’s laces and Sarmenti is delighted to see that the Leper has opted to forgo underwear tonight.

Baldwin attempts to cross his legs to maintain some decency but Sarmenti is quick to stop him when he places his hands on either side of his hips. The Leper is a naturally large man and his cock is no less impressive than any other appendage he has. The pubic hair he sports is patchy and somewhat untidy, but it nonetheless does an excellent job at framing his thick cock.

His breath hitches when Sarmenti gives him a slow, teasing stroke. Sarmenti’s hands are obviously a lot smaller than his own, and watching those slim fingers gracefully slide up and down his prick, almost dwarfed by the sheer size of it, only spurns on his erection. When Sarmenti carefully squeezes out a bead of precum from his cockhead, Baldwin practically growls in want.

“ _Jester…!”_

“Don’t fret, Baldwin. You are in very capable hands tonight,”

Sarmenti pauses.

“A capable mouth.” He corrects. 

Without warning, Sarmenti swipes his tongue over Baldwin’s prick. He starts at the base, near the junction of his sac, before licking upwards and enveloping the head. He sinks downwards onto Baldwin’s cock until he feels his lips start to stretch and his jaw start to ache. Sarmenti’s cheeks hollow further as he sucks, and more of Baldwin disappears into his mouth. When he is sufficiently full, Sarmenti’s hand rubs the remainder of the cock he could not fit into his mouth, eliciting a low groan from his unconventional lover.

Sarmenti’s hand barely wraps around the shaft but he is generous with the jerks he applies to it, though his true talent is his tongue. While he pumps at Baldwin’s cock, his tongue lies flat against it, enjoying each bump and vein that dances over it. Each lick ends with a gentle suck at the tip, lapping at the slit like a man demented.

Baldwin’s breathing takes on an erratic pace, his abdominals heaving with each hard suck. He faintly feels sweat forming at his brow, trickling down the side of his face as he watches Sarmenti lavish his prick with an expert mouth. When the Jester’s eyes flick upward and offer a smug wink, Baldwin grabs a fistful of his auburn hair and pushes him down onto his cock. Sarmenti quickly finds his nose buried in unkempt, taupe hair and his throat full of thick, throbbing dick. He gargles around the flesh and Baldwin throws him a patronising look of his own.

“I suppose…this is one way to silence that… _ugh_ … crude mouth of yours.”

Any dominion Baldwin has over Sarmenti is diminished when the Jester constricts his throat around his cock. The banter ceases and Baldwin gives out a strangled groan with auburn hair clenched tight in his fist. Sarmenti thoroughly enjoys that and grabs hold of Baldwin’s thighs to steady himself as his throat is fucked. Saliva spills from the corner of his mouth and trails down his chin. Baldwin gathers the saliva with his thumb before wiping it over the side of the Jester’s face so that he looks thoroughly debauched.

Baldwin pushes Sarmenti’s head down and up with the grip of his hair, meeting the man’s mouth halfway by the lifting of his hips. His movements are controlled and slow at first, but when the Jester challenges him with a salacious stare, he quickens his pace. His thrusts are irregular and amateurish; a man desperately chasing his own pleasure. He pants, grunts and snarls as he fucks Sarmenti’s mouth into a new shape, with the Jester more than happy to allow it.

The noises the Jester makes are nothing short of obscene. He moans around the cock like the most salacious of whores and coats it with a thick layer of saliva. His tongue explores each ridge and bump along the shaft, finding varying pressure points to exploit when his lips return to glide over it. The wet pressure his throat exerts with each hurried thrust of Baldwin’s cock is mesmerising, and it takes all of Baldwin’s battle-training in restraint to not shove his entire cock down Sarmenti’s throat and keep it there. 

Minutes pass and Sarmenti’s mouth continues to captivate Baldwin. The man thrusts into him with brutal strength, blissfully unaware of the bruising that will form at the back of Sarmenti’s throat. Baldwin begins to pant like a man on the brink of collapse but Sarmenti pays him no mind, swallowing around his shaft and running his tongue all over the reddened tip. When Sarmenti playfully grazes his teeth on the sensitive cockhead, Baldwin groans out a litany of praises.

“ _Come on, Sarmenti_ ,” he whispers in a voice low and hoarse, “ _Take me to the edge, show me the Heavens…_ ”

Sarmenti practically keens. It is not enough to be the first to see the Leper King like this, to be the first to claim him.  
He wants to be claimed as well.

Sarmenti takes hold of Baldwin’s free wrist and pulls himself off his cock, an obscene string of spit connected the two of them. The Leper almost looks anguished at the absence of Sarmenti’s hot mouth, but his suffering ends when he is jerked fast and hard.

Baldwin’s face is coated in a layer of sweat, his bandages sodden with it. Even his mask, as cool as the man who wears it, feels hot against his skin. With hazy eyes, he watches Sarmenti lavish his straining cock with short, sharp tugs as he feels himself unwind.

The Jester in turn, adores the attention.

“Cum for me, King Baldwin,” There is a gleam in Sarmenti’s eyes, half-manic and half-longing.

“Cum for your fool. Mark me.”

Hot breath escapes from under the mask and Baldwin bites down on his chapped lip with such force that it is a miracle it does not tear. His toes curl in his bandages and he grunts out the Jester’s name with his eyes rolled back.

“ _Sarmenti!_ ”

Baldwin thrashes upon the bed, head thrown back in reckless abandonment. His hand is clamped over his mouth, muffling the loud groans that rumble in his chest and echo in the room. Baldwin comes undone in Sarmenti’s fist. His body jerks and his cock releases a thick rope of cum on the Jester’s pale cheek. His orgasm sustains, and he continues to expel white stripes of his release over Sarmenti’s face, hair and shirt. The Jester himself heaves in excitement, licking at the mess on his face like a starving man. The release itself was plentiful, and Sarmenti silently pictures himself choking and spluttering should he have allowed Baldwin to finish in his mouth.

That will be an idea for another time.

Baldwin starts to soften in his hand, and his breathing becomes deeper and rhythmic. Chin drenched in sweat and cowl dislodged, he forces himself to sit and face the man who just sent him to divine ecstasy.

“Thank you.” He pants, still trying to catch his breath.

Sarmenti cleans himself up with the corner of his sleeve. He then helps Baldwin back into his breeches, an action that is surprisingly tender following the debauchery. Sarmenti had never really partaken in the softer, romantic activities following sex, but he had never really had a reason to. He considers himself occasionally selfish and spiteful, but he is not downright cruel enough to abandon a man after his first sexual experience.

Sarmenti pats the man’s leg and leaves his hand there.

“There’s no need for formalities, Baldwin. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The Leper props himself down onto his elbows, a small, satisfied smile appearing under his mask, though it is mostly hidden in the candleflame.

“Would you like to stay?” He asks before he can stop himself.

Embarrassment floods Baldwin’s stomach the second the words leave his mouth. He hopes, _prays_ , that the question did not sound as foolishly lovesick as his pleasure-addled brain is making him feel.

Sarmenti raises his brows in surprise, and then purses his lips as though the question is requires contemplation. In truth, the question requires no thought at all; hellfire, Sarmenti had wanted this the second Baldwin stepped out of the stagecoach and into the hamlet.

“Yes,” Sarmenti responds, nonchalantly as possible, “I think I shall.”

Baldwin shifts upon his bed, moving slightly to allow Sarmenti room to lie beside him. The bed is barely large enough to contain the Leper, and it is most unsuitable to contain a second man. The issue is resolved, however, when Sarmenti commandeers most of Baldwin’s chest as his mattress.

The weight pressing down on him is warm and comforting, a rare feeling when constantly thrust into the depths of hell itself. Sarmenti runs a finger over his mask, trailing the sharp edges where the metal was welded together. Baldwin clasps the hand and presses it to his mouth. He kisses the palm with his rough lips and Sarmenti shudders in his hold.

“Never pegged you as a soppy romantic,” Sarmenti says with his cheek pressed against the bandages, “I hope I’ve stopped you from penning that depressing, shite poetry.”

The Leper makes an amused noise and strokes the man’s hair.

“Maybe.” Baldwin hums, content.

The small room does not have the luxuries of his homeland, nor the golden rays of sunlight and the sweet smell of fruit in large, lush gardens.  
But, he has the Jester and for the first time in many years, Baldwin is happy to be alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> The title is taken from _She Bangs the Drums_ by The Stone Roses, for anyone interested!
> 
> A massive thank you to my homeskillet, my friends on the server, and whoever invented tea because a lot of it was consumed in the making of this!!


End file.
